Open Questions Part 1
by sjepstein
Summary: X-Files/JAG/Quantum Leap. Sam, Mac, Mulder, Scully, investigate naval accident.
1. Part I

**A Really Strange Leap…**

18:52 Zulu

USS _Dwight D. Eisenhower_, in the Mediterranean Sea

Lieutenant Adam Richards charged through the corridors of the Supercarrier, heading for the Reactor Room.   
Lieutenant Adam Richards was a fighter pilot, not an engineer. A fact that the man guarding the Reactor Room reminded him as he tried to get past him.   
"You are not authorized in this area, sir," the sailor said.   
"Listen to me," Richards said, "The Number 2 Reactor is going to go critical in a minute and a half. If we don't stop it, the ship will be lost."   
"And how do you know that the reactor is going critical, sir?"   
"I can't explain right now. You have to trust me."   
The sailor stopped to think for a minute. Then he reached for the intercom. When he turned his back, Richards hit him on the head, and forced his way into the Reactor Room.

When Lieutenant Richards was apprehended by shipboard security, he had no memory of having stricken his fellow sailor, nor of how he came to be in the Reactor Room, nor how, while in the Reactor Room, he had had undone the obvious sabotage that certainly would have sent the Number 2 reactor critical.   


* * *

  
8:45 AM EST—FBI Headquarters

Dana Scully had made a habit of dreading her partner's early-morning surprise briefings.   
Mulder had called her at seven in the morning—obviously excited about something. Obviously, a new x-file. But the more excited Mulder was about it, the stranger it was likely to be.   
She took a deep breath, set herself, and opened the door to the office she shared with him.   
And Mulder wasn't there. _Figures_, she thought, and turned to sit at her desk. She jumped when she realized that Mulder was standing right behind her.   
"I got you coffee," he said, and handed her a cup.   
"Thanks," she said, taking the cup from him.   
He sat in his desk chair, and leaned it back as far as it would go. Obviously not talking. Obviously waiting for Scully to ask.   
_ I can hold out as long as he can_, Scully thought. She perched herself on the edge of her desk, and calmly sipped her coffee.   
They sat there, regarding each other in silence, for a full five minutes. Then, Mulder: "So, did you catch the game last night? I think we could be in for a Subway Series this October—"   
"Alright, Mulder," Scully sighed. "What's the case?"   
Mulder slid forward, and reached into his file cabinet. "Missing Persons," he said, and handed her a file.   
She opened the folder. The first page was a dossier—of a Nobel Laureate. The document was a summary of the government information on one Dr. Samuel Beckett—physicist, physician, archaeologist, musician… Current as of the Fall of 1985.   
"You're telling me that a Nobel Laureate is missing for fifteen years, an no one notices before now?" Scully asked.   
"Not exactly," Mulder replied. "When Beckett vanished, he was involved with a top-secret project based in New Mexico that was going to be shut down as a failure. No one has seen or heard from Dr. Beckett since the night before the project was to be shut down."   
"Was the project terminated?"   
"No. And that was fifteen years ago."   
"So, we're going back to New Mexico?" Scully asked. In her tenure on the x-files with Mulder, it seemed as though New Mexico had become their second home.   
"No," Mulder said. "The Mediterranean."   
"OK… I see how they're connected…"   
"When he vanished, Beckett was working with the Navy on a time-travel project. Over the course of the last fifteen years, a number of unusual incidents have been recorded, in which principal players demonstrated skills they couldn't possibly have, as well as knowledge of the immediate future. Afterwards, these people have at best shaky memories of the incidents themselves, and no knowledge of those skills."   
"What sort of skills?" Scully asked.   
"Semi-literate individuals exhibiting advanced medical knowledge. Tone-deaf people playing piano. Fighter pilots with knowledge of nuclear power systems."   
"So you think that Beckett is leaping around through time, temporarily inhabiting these people's lives?"   
Mulder nodded. "And the most recent example occurred a few days ago on the USS _Eisenhower_ on patrol in the Mediterranean Sea. A pilot, claiming knowledge of sabotage, forced his way into one of the reactor rooms and repaired the equipment. When questioned later, he had no knowledge of any of it."   
"Sounds like an issue for the Navy," Scully said.   
"Typically, it would be," Mulder said. "But because the sabotage is being considered an attempted terrorist act, and because you and I still have Terror Squad credentials…"   
_ I don't believe this, _Scully thought. _I'm finally going to the Mediterranean. But to Italy? Greece? The French Riviera? No. An x-file on an aircraft carrier._ "Fine," she said. "Anything else I should know?"   
"Well… Now that you mention it. The Navy does still have its own interest. We therefore will be 'assisted' by the JAG corps…"   


* * *

  
09:45 Zulu

JAG Headquarters

Sam felt himself "land."   
He took a second to try to orient himself—as much as he could, anyway. Each time he leapt—each time he spent some time in another person's life, he recovered a little bit more of his own. But each time he leapt and landed again, part of the gain was lost. It was like taking two steps forward and one step back. And in the journey of a thousand miles, how many more steps back? As a habit, he started calculating: A mile is 1570 yards—   
"Harm—the Admiral wants to see you and me right away."   
Sam looked up. He was sitting in an office. On the desk in front him were documents and folders—legal size. Glancing at them, Sam thought they looked like court papers. Not that he would necessarily know—law was not one of the degrees Al had told him he had.   
Standing in the doorway was a young woman—in a marine's uniform. A Lieutenant Colonel, if Sam remembered his military rank insignia correctly.   
"Uh, I'll be right there, Colonel," Sam said. He made a show of shuffling some of the papers on his desk.   
"You OK Harm?"   
"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"   
"I can't remember the last time you called me Colonel."   
_ Right_, Sam thought. _This is obviously someone 'I' work with. You don't usually address co-workers with their titles._ He peered at the nameplate on her chest, which read "Sara McKenzie." He took a guess. "Sorry, Mac. You caught me off guard."   
Mac smiled. "Glad you're not turning formal on us. The Admiral is still waiting?"   
_ Guessed right_, Sam thought. He stood up, and caught his reflection on the office's interior window. Naval duty-whites. Commander's bars. _The Admiral,_ Sam thought. _Al's an Admiral._   
He followed Mac out into the main office area, eyes scanning the environment. _Must be the JAG Corps_, he thought. He'd had a run-in with JAG on a leap, once. He'd been accused—the _leappee_ had been accused—of murder. Sam thought it had something to do with Al, but he couldn't remember what.   
They walked into a large, wood-paneled office. There were two men in Navy uniforms. One, apparently smoking a cigar, was looking out the window. The other was sat behind the desk.   
"Thank you, Tyner. That will be all," the man behind the desk said. The office door closed.   
"Admiral, these are the two officers who will be conducting the investigation and keeping our friends from the FBI in line. Commander Harmon Rabb; Lieutenant Colonel Sara McKenzie. I'd like you to meet Admiral Calivicci."   
The man with the cigar turned around, and looked straight at Sam.   
"Oh, boy," Sam said.


	2. Part II

QUANTUM X-FILE, PT. 2

"Commander, Colonel," Chegwidden said. "You are familiar with the recent incident aboard the _Eisenhower_?"   
"A pilot—Lieutenant Adam Richards, is charged with assaulting a guard and accessing violating a secure area," Mac said.   
"Not entirely," Chegwidden said. "The victim of the assault hasn't pressed charges. And there does seem to have been sabotage on the Number 2 Reactor. Which raises the question of how Lieutenant Richards knew of it."   
"Is Lieutenant Richards a suspect for the sabotage?" Mac asked.   
"If he wasn't involved, he's the best lead on who _was_," Chegwidden replied.   
_ But what is _Al _doing here? In the present—the present Al?_ Sam thought. _And where's _my_ Al?_ he wondered. And as if on cue, he heard the imaging chamber door slide open. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hologram Al double-take on seeing Present Al.   
"Curiouser and curiouser," Hologram Al said, waving a smoking cigar that probably smelled as bad as the one Present Al was smoking. "What am _I_ doing here?"   
_ Good question_, Sam thought. Maybe one that ought to be asked.   
"Excuse me, sir," Sam said.   
"Commander?" Chegwidden replied.   
"May I ask what Admiral Calivicci's involvement is in this case?"   
"I'm glad _someone_ asked, Harm," Present Al said.   
Mac glanced sidelong at Sam. _Do you know him?_ she mouthed.   
"Yes," Hologram Al said. "You—I mean he—I mean the person you've leaped into—is the son of a pilot I served with in Vietnam."   
"AJ, if you don't mind?" Present Al asked.   
"Go right ahead, Admiral," Chegwidden said.   
"All right," Present Al began. "Basically, there is suspicion that this was an attempted terrorist act. As such, the FBI has taken a special interest in this case. Two agents will be joining you on this investigation. You are to escort them, and keep them from certain secure information."   
"Wouldn't that be standard operating procedure in a case such as this, Admiral?" Mac asked.   
"We don't think that this particular FBI team is actually interested in investigating terrorism," Present Al said. "We believe that they may actually be interested in investigating certain top-secret Navy projects."   
"Why do you say that, sir?" Sam asked.   
"One of the agents—Fox Mulder—has been attempting to investigate this particular project for a while," Present Al replied. "He's on some sort of quest to uncover the 'truth' behind everything from telepathy to UFOs—"   
_ I did uncover the truth about UFOs…_ Sam thought. At least, he thought he did. He remembered— Maybe he leaped out at the last minute. He thought there had been something there… But the quest for truth—wasn't that his also? And Al's? "To dream the impossible dream…" Sam muttered.   
Present Al did a double-take at that. For a moment, he peered directly into Sam's eyes.   
Hologram Al peered at Present Al peering at Sam. "Just back away slowly," Hologram Al said to his counterpart. "Just don't go there…"   
Present Al broke eye contact.   
"In any case," Chegwidden broke in, "the two of you will accompany these two FBI agents to the _Eisenhower_. You will assist them in finding those responsible for this attempt. And you will see to it that their investigation is limited to that. Dismissed."   
Sam and Mac saluted Chegwidden, and left the office.

Flight Deck—USS _Eisenhower_

The helicopter set down on the flihgt deck with a slight thud—or perhaps more than a light thud—Scully couldn't quite tell, through the thick headphone/ear protectors they were made to wear.   
A crewmember opened the helicopter door, and motioned for Mulder and Scully to get out. Two officers were waiting for them on the flight deck.   
"Special Agent Mulder," Mulder yelled over the helicopter noise. "This is my partner, Special Agent Scully."   
The shorter officer replied—in a female voice—"Lt. Colonel Mackenzie. This is Commander Rabb. Let's got belowdecks so we can talk."   
Mulder and Scully followed the officers off the flight deck, and they changed out of their flight suits.   
Soon, the four of them were sitting around a conference table. The Colonel was a youngish woman, with dark hair and dark eyes and an unmistakable air of self-confidence.   
The Navy officer, however, was another matter. A man in his late thirties—dark hair, striking blue eyes. Scully noticed—because it seemed out of place on a JAG officer—the aviator wings pinned to his duty whites.   
She looked over at Mulder, who was no doubt making his own observations of the officers. He seemed to pause just a beat too long on the Colonel.   
Mulder spoke first. "So, Commander, Colonel. How far has you investigation extended to this point?"   
"We only arrived shortly before you did, Agent Mulder," Mackenzie replied. "We've been instructed to share all of our non-classified findings with you, and rest assured, we will."   
"And what's classified, and what's not classified?" Scully asked.   
"Generally speaking, anything related to the personnel involved will most likely not be classified," Mackenzie explained, "As opposed to certain aspects of the ship and ship's systems, which are."   
"Are you saying that we will have no access to any physical evidence from the crime scene?" Mulder asked.   
"Not exactly," Mackenzie replied. "Commander Rabb and I can collect physical evidence, which, if the evidence itself isn't sensitive, we can share with you."   
"And who determines what's 'sensitive'?" Mulder asked.   
"The Navy," Mackenzie replied.   
Mulder nodded in response to her answer. But his eyes were fixed on Rabb, who remained silent. Finally, Mulder nodded. "Fine. Would it be possible to interview this Lieutenant Richards?" he asked.   
"Absolutely," Mackenzie replied.   
"I think it would be most efficient if we split into two teams—with one person from each department on each—to question the suspect, and one to inspect for physical clues."   
"Agreed," Colonel Mackenzie said. "Agent Scully, I understand that you have a background in the sciences."   
"I am a medical doctor," Scully replied.   
"That might be helpful," Mackenzie said. "You and I should take a look at the engine room. Commander Rabb—who appears to know how to speak to pilots in their own language—will debrief the suspect."

Scully and the Colonel made their way through the bowels of the ship toward the reactor room.   
"Have you and Agent Mulder been partners long?" the Colonel asked.   
"More than six years," Scully replied. _Six very long years_, she thought. "And you and the Commander?"   
"Oh. Well, we're not really partners so much anymore," Mackenzie replied. "More often than not these days, the Admiral puts us on opposite sides of the courtroom—facing off against each other."   
"And through that, you remain friends."   
"Yes. Very good friends." The Colonel shrugged. "It's nothing new, really. We've always disagreed, about many things. I mean, basically, I'm a Marine, and he's a naval aviator. We sometimes seem to disagree on everything. But I trust him. And I respect him, despite that. Do you know what I mean, Agent Scully?"   
"As a matter of fact, Colonel, I think I do," Scully replied.   
They came to a bulkhead that was under guard.   
The guards saluted the Colonel, who returned the salute.   
"Ma'am, I am to escort you into the reactor room," one of the guards said to Mackenzie. "And the civilian will have to wait here."   
Scully nodded, and waited while Colonel Mackenzie inspected the scene. Ten minutes later, she emerged looking confused. She handed Scully a piece of notepaper, on which was written "Ziggy C1459: 9E0WV0AIV"   
"Have you ever seen anything like this, Agent Scully?" she asked.   
"Where did you get this?" Scully asked.   
"It was written on a surface in the reactor room."   
"No," Scully said. "I haven't seen a code like that before."

TO BE CONTINUED


	3. Part III

Sam and Mulder left the conference room, bound for the brig. Sam heard the imaging chamber door open behind him.

"Ah, this brings back memories," Al said. "Life on a carrier. Cramped quarters. Bad food. No women. But really fast planes."

Sam was glad Al had decided to show up. Al _had_ been able to brief him about the man whose identity he'd assumed—a Navy pilot turned JAG lawyer—someone Al had actually known, in fact. And having Al over his shoulder would help Sam stay in character—to help him _act _like a pilot on a carrier. That was the tough part. Sam felt pretty sure he could handle passing as a lawyer. He had before, in fact. If his swiss-cheesed memory served.

But this FBI agent—this Mulder—made Sam a little nervous. Al said that Mulder had earned the nickname "Spooky"—and not for his counterintelligence expertise. And even though Mulder and his partner were here in their capacity as anti-terrorist investigators, they were both more regularly assigned to something called the X-files—investigations into the unexplained.

That, in itself, made Sam a little nervous, considering that his own situation could fall into that category. More than that, though—there was something a little off between Mulder and his partner. There was something Sam couldn't quite put his finger on.

They arrived at the brig. Lieutenant Richards—a round-faced kid with close-cropped tight blonde curls, snapped to attention and saluted Sam.

Sam returned the Salute. "As you were, Lieutenant," he said.

Richards sat down. "So, is it true, Sir, that you voluntarily chose to fly a desk instead of an F-14?"

Sam paused. "Well… It's not quite as straight-forward as all that."

Richards smiled. "Yeah, that's what I'd thought—that's what I'd heard."

"What had you heard?" Mulder asked.

Sam nodded at Mulder. "Lieutenant Adam Richards, this is Special Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI Anti-Terrorism Squad. He's assisting me in this investigation."

Richards nodded at Mulder.

"What had you heard?" Mulder asked again.

"Oh, nothing much," Richards replied. "Just that there was this story about a re-tread pilot on the _Patrick Henry_ who won a Flying Cross, and was then put out to pasture. Our CAG said it was voluntary—but no one I knew bought that. Why would a pilot that good—even a dinosaur—give up flying voluntarily?"

"Well, I appreciate that, Lieutenant," Sam said. "I think."

"Lieutenant Richards," Mulder said. "Can you tell us why you ran into the reactor room?"

"No," Richards said, looking bewildered. "I can't. I can't actually remember doing it, sir," he said, looking at Sam. "Last thing I remembered was calling the ball on my last trap. Then I was in custody, and they told me it was three days later. At first I figured I fowled my landing—not that it was a great landing, but it wasn't bad enough to land me in the brig."

"And you remember nothing, for three days?" Sam asked.

"That's right, sir."

"You blacked out?" Mulder asked.

Richards shrugged. "I guess so."

"Do you remember any dreams?" Mulder asked.

"Sir?" Richards replied, looking confused.

"You know, Lieutenant," Mulder said. "Any images—sounds—sensations—you might recall. Even if they don't seem to make sense. Or was it just black?"

"You know, now that you mention it," Richards said, "I do have this image of being someplace surrounded by a bright blue. And looking at my reflection—but it wasn't my reflection. _Must_ have been a dream."

Al was staring at Richards while he was describing his "dream"—his jaw inching toward the ground. Al tapped at his handlink. And then he hit it gently. Then he slapped it. And then he slapped it _hard_.

"Sam, this isn't good," he said. "He's describing the waiting room—which he shouldn't remember, even he'd leaped. But according to Ziggy, he _hadn't_."

Mulder looked like a teenager who'd been given the keys to his first car. "Well, I think I'm done here for now," he said. "Commander?"

Sam looked at Mulder, than at Richards, Back at Mulder, than over at Al.

Al stared back at him with an expression of bewildered terror unlike anything Sam had seen before. "Sam, we need to go somewhere where we can talk," he said.

Sam nodded.   


* * *

  
They left the brig, and headed back toward the mess. Al had apparently left the imaging chamber to confer directly with Ziggy and the rest of the Project staff.

"You look pretty pleased with yourself, Agent Mulder," Sam said. "Considering that we got nothing meaningful out of our suspect."

"We did learn something useful here, Commander," Mulder said. "We have evidence that the U.S. government was trying to sink one of its own aircraft carriers."

Sam stopped walking. "Excuse me—but what?"

"There are secret, black ops projects—some of which deal with body substitution—an agent can flash into an innocent bystander and switch places with him or her. That agent can then carry out its mission, and switch back. The innocent bystander—Lieutenant Richards in this case—would have no memory of this ever happening."

"That doesn't follow," Sam said. "Even if you accept—for the sake of argument—that such projects existed—which I'm not—it does not follow that their motives would be corrupt."

"What other motives could there be?" Mulder asked.

Sam paused. "I don't know."

Sam heard the imaging chamber door open, and Al reappeared. "Sam, we need to talk—privately," he said.

"Agent Mulder, if you'll excuse me, I need to use the head," Sam said.

"By all means, Commander. We'll wait for you in the mess."

* * *

  
Al was waiting for him in the officer's head.

"We may have a problem," he said.

"You mean, other than the fact that my partner on this investigation is aware of the Project?" Sam asked.

"Oh, that's nothing," Al replied. "Mulder's mostly harmless. Even if he stumbled onto the Project—no one would believe him anyway.

"The problem is—Ziggy's gone over the data. She thinks that, at some point in the future—and we don't know when—that you're _going_ to leap into Lieutenant Richards."

"And that's how he—I know—how to fix the reactor."

"Nuclear physics _is_ one of your doctorates," Al said. "But what Ziggy doesn't know is why you'd leap in _now_, before the other leap."

"That must be related to why I'm here in the first place," Sam speculated. "Maybe there's something I have to do here, now, to set up the other leap."

Al tapped at the handlink. "Well, given how ambiguous a statement that is, Ziggy gives that one an 80% chance."

"The key question is _what_," Sam wondered. "Suppose there _was_ a real saboteur—an actual terrorist. Knowing who that was and what they'd done would be essential to saving the ship. So what I have to do is find the terrorist, and find out what he or she is planning to do, and when. Which will also clear Lieutenant Richards."

Al peered at the handlink. "Ziggy gives that one 40%," he said.

"_40%_?" Sam asked. "What else does she think I'm here to do?"

"She thinks—65%--that the leap has something to do with our friends from the FBI."   


* * *


	4. Part IV

When the truth hides _When the truth hides_   
_An eternity goes by_   
_On the fault line_   
_Between then and now._   
_ —Geddy Lee, "Grace to Grace"___

Dana Scully thanked God that she'd chosen to join the FBI, and not the Navy.   
On the tray before her was a quantity of barely-identifiable organic matter, which she intellectually knew to have been derived from the finest ingredients government funds could buy.   
And she feared for the safety of her country. If armies (and presumably, navies) move on their stomachs, and this was the fare being fed to the fighting men and women, then the United States could be in big trouble.   
Then again, she thought, maybe this food had been subjected to tests of top secret and highly sophisticated weapon systems.   
In any case, her surroundings were far more interesting than the food. To her left, Mulder was toying with his food. He was crafting a hypothesis, she supposed, that explained his entrée's uncanny resemblance to the Alien Black Oil.   
Across the table from Mulder, Colonel Mackenzie was attacking her chow with gusto, apparently oblivious to its appearance. The three of them were still waiting for Commander Rabb.   
Mulder looked at his plate, then over at Scully's then at Mackinzie's. Scully caught his eye. He shrugged.   
"That's an impressive ring," Mulder said to Colonel Mackenzie, indicating the diamond on her left hand.   
"Why, thank you, Agent Mulder," she replied.   
"Commander Rabb?" Mulder asked.   
Mackenzie seemed momentarily taken aback. "Why, no, actually," she said. "Why would you think that, Agent Mulder?"   
__ Yeah, why would you think that? Scully thought.   
"Well, the two of you seem very close," Mulder said.   
"We are," Mackenzie replied. "We—all of us at the JAG office—spend a lot of time working together. Actually, Mick—my fiancé—worked with us for several months. That's how we met."   
And, as if on cue, Commander Rabb walked into the Officer's Mess, and sat down at the table.

  
Sam would have been irretrievably lost on the carrier if Al hadn't been with him. As it was, he was worried that he'd been delayed too long conferring with Al—that the others might start to miss him.   
He walked into the Officer's Mess, and spotted Colonel Mackenzie, and the FBI agents sitting together. He walked over, and sat down next to the Colonel.   
"Harm—aren't you going to get something to eat?" Mac asked him.   
Sam looked over at the specimen—he could think of no better word—on Mac's plate. Any stray thought of hunger fled from his mind.   
"No, I think maybe I'll get something later," he said.   
"Now we're all here," Mac said, "Did you guys get anything out of the suspect?"   
Sam looked over at Mulder. "Nothing useful," he said.   
"Not yet, anyway," Mulder added. "We may need to interview him again."   
Mac nodded. "Then I think we may have done better than you. I found a highly unusual note scratched onto a surface in the engine room." She put the notepaper on the table between the four of them. 

"Ziggy C1459: 9E0WV0AIV"  Sam could sense Al peering at the note over his shoulder. "Looks like a note you might leave for yourself," Al said. "A coded cipher, with the key. If we knew the system, which we don't." He tapped at the handlink. "The good news is that it's fairly straight-forward, once we find the system for the key—it's only a matter of time. The bad news is that Ziggy says it could take five or six hours."   
"Do you think Lieutenant Richards is responsible for that?" Sam asked.   
"It must be fairly recent," Mac said. "Otherwise it would have been painted over."   
Mulder turned the paper around so it was facing him. "If it's a message of some kind, who was it meant for?" he asked. "If the saboteur had been successful, the message, along with the whole ship, would have been completely destroyed."   
"Maybe it was some sort of mnemonic Richards was using in order to remember the steps in the sabotage," Scully suggested. "We know for a fact that he is not actually familiar with the reactor's workings."   
"Assuming that this note was left by Richards," Mulder said.   
"Uh, Sam," Al said, "I may have been a little overly-optimistic a minute ago. Even assuming that Ziggy can decipher this code, and that it is the name of the true saboteur, there's another problem. You're an officer of the court. You need real evidence to arrest and stop whoever it is."   
"So, how can we find out where this message did come from?" Mac asked.   
"I think I have an idea about that," Sam said, to both of them. 


	5. Part V

Scully watched as Commander Rabb took a final quick look at the note paper, stood up, and left the mess hall—Colonel Mackenzie a half-step behind Scully watched as Commander Rabb took a final quick look at the note, stood up, and left the mess hall—with Colonel Mackenzie a half-step behind.   
Mulder was still staring at the note.   
"What is it, Mulder?" she asked, finally.   
"Did you bring that Beckett file with you?"   
_ Did she bring the Beckett file?_ She thought. Not that a missing scientist would logically have anything to do with attempted military sabotage. But yes, she _had_ brought it. Because she always saw to the details—it had been part of her clinical training. And, like marching taught at boot camp, was part of her training that couldn't be undone.   
"Yes, Mulder, I brought the file. Why?"   
"What does this name—Ziggy—mean to you?" he asked.   
"A round-headed syndicated cartoon character?" And, although she was impressed that Mulder had picked up on a part of the note that the rest of them had ignored—he was good at that, actually—picking up on details others ignored—she did not get the connection to the case.   
"Part of the project Beckett was working on was the creation of a sentient computer. And the computer project had a name—"   
"HAL?" Scully suggested.   
Mulder made a face. "I'm serious Scully. I think this is a note for that _computer_. Or_ from_ that computer. Beckett—or his agent—was here. And might still be here."   
"To what purpose, Mulder?" she asked. "You said this 'project' was under the aegis of the Navy. Why would the Navy try to sink one of it's own capital ships?"   
Mulder straightened up with a start. "That's a very good question Scully. There's no point to it. Maybe I've been looking at this backwards. Maybe the Project was involved in _saving_ the ship."   
  
Sam caught up with Al on deck. "How long until Ziggy deciphers the code?" Sam asked.   
"Four more hours at least," Al replied. "But you still need to be able to collect evidence, and…"   
"It'll be easier to collect evidence if we know where to look," Sam replied.   
"That's a good point, Sam."   
"Besides which, I thought I was here just to find out what's going to have happened—not to make an arrest."   
Al tapped at the handlink. "Ziggy thinks they might be the same thing," he said. "And there's the other thing."   
"What other thing?"   
"Those two FBI agents. Ziggy thinks you're here to help them."   
"Right. Help them solve this case," Sam said.   
"Uh, that's not exactly what she means," Al replied.   
"What _does_ she mean, then?" Sam asked. Al was dancing around something. Rather not like him.   
"Well, she thinks that one or both of them need a life change. They way things stand, within three months, Agent Mulder will vanish, never to be seen again. Agent Scully will maintain that he's abducted by aliens. And Agent Scully, after searching for two years, will leave the FBI—_and_ give up medicine."   
"And what does Ziggy think _I'm_ supposed to do about it _here_?"   
"She thinks there's a 70% chance you're here to get them to… you know…" Al made some motions with his hands—waving them about and bringing them together.   
"But they're _partners_, Al. They work together. It wouldn't be appropriate— You'd just as soon as get the Colonel and the Commander together!"   
Al looked sheepish. "Ziggy had some theories about that, too."   
"Al! I shouldn't have to remind _you_ that this is a nuclear carrier—one still under threat of sabotage—not the _Love Boat_. And can't a man and a woman work closely together without sex being involved?"   
"Keep it down, Sam," Al said. "I said she had some thoughts. She gives it 10%. And you do have to do something about the agents. An improper relationship would be better than one going MIA and the other withdrawing from life. Come on, Sam—you've seen the way they look at each other."   
The truth was, he _had_ seen something pass between the two FBI agents. And if there _was _something below the surface, then maybe all Sam had to do was bring it out, and let the agents come to their own conclusions. He heard the imaging chamber door slide open.   
"I'm gonna go check on some things," Al said. "In the meantime, it looks like you've got company." He pointed over Sam's shoulder with his cigar. Agent Mulder was striding up the deck.   
The imaging chamber door slid shut, and Al was gone.   
"Do you always hide out on deck when at sea, Commander Rabb?"   
Agent Mulder appeared on the deck next to Sam—almost out of nowhere.   
"Actually, frequently, yes," Sam replied.   
"So, is this your idea for finding the saboteur?" Mulder asked.   
"I'm sorry?"   
"In the mess hall, you said you had an idea for finding the identity of the saboteur. I was wondering if wandering around on deck had something to do with it."   
"Basically," Sam replied, "my idea was to take a look at who may have left the ship—other than pilots on sorties—just prior to the incident."   
"Why eliminate the pilots?" Mulder asked.   
"Because a pilot on a sortie would know that he'd have to return to the ship—and if the ship was sunk, there'd be no place for him to land."   
"That's a good point," Mulder said. "If you assume either that the saboteur intended to leave instead of going down with the ship. Or assuming that the saboteur was a crew member."   
"The records indicate that there were no guests on board at that time."   
"No guests that were apparent to witnesses," Mulder said.   
"You're back on the time-travel idea, Agent Mulder?" Sam asked. Mulder was a fascinating character—uncannily insightful in places, unusually blind in others. He seemed to know about the existence of the Project—at least in its broad outlines—but he had no clue as to its purpose, or how it would work.   
Mulder smiled.   
Sam leaned against the deck railing. "Let me ask you something else, if you don't mind my changing the subject."   
"Please," Mulder replied   
Sam took a breath. Like with any other leap, the reason for the leap could be any number of things. And Sam felt it foolish not to at least _explore_ some of the possibilities, even if he thought them highly unlikely. And so he would give Ziggy's idea a try. "How long have you been with Agent Scully?" he asked.   
Mulder paused. "We've been partners for seven years," he replied.   
"And you're only partners?"   
"What are you implying, Commander Rabb?" Mulder asked.   
"I'm not implying, Agent Mulder. I'm curious. You and Agent Scully seem to be unusually close."   
"No closer than you and Colonel Mackenzie."   
_ Point there_, Sam thought.   
  
Scully had been bunked with the Colonel. Not that she really wanted to stay over onboard an aircraft carrier. But there seemed to have been little choice.   
She entered the stateroom, and found Colonel Mackenzie tapping away on a laptop.   
Scully knocked on the bulkhead. The Colonel sat up with a start.   
"I'm sorry to disturb you Colonel," Scully said. "Looks like we're roommates."   
"I'm sorry," Mackenzie said. "I didn't hear you come in. Please, make yourself comfortable. I'm just finishing an e-mail to my fiancé."   
"Have you set a date?" Scully asked.   
"Not quite yet," Mackenzie replied. "We're looking at a few a few months from now."   
"You said before that your fiancé was stationed at JAG for a while?" Scully asked.   
Mackenzie nodded. "We worked together for a long time before we got together." She paused. "Funny—I never really thought about it this way—but we actually only got together after he left to return to Australia. But if we hadn't worked together for so long, I doubt we would have gotten together."   
"Why do you say that?" Scully asked.   
"Well, because working together under stressful conditions—you learn things about character that you wouldn't under other circumstances. I'm sure your relationship with Agent Mulder would be different if you weren't partners."   
"What exactly do you mean by 'relationship?'" Scully asked.   
Mackenzie paused. "I didn't actually mean anything other than a working relationship," she said. "Why, were you thinking about something else?"   
Had she thought about something else, Scully wondered to herself. Maybe she had, on occasion. But not seriously. Mulder would probably not be interested—well, maybe over the telephone, but not in person… And besides, they were _partners_.   
"Why?" Scully retorted. "Can't a man and a woman work closely together without 'something else' being involved?"   
"Certainly," Mackenzie replied. "On the other hand, it is a natural question."   
"Is it?" Scully replied. "And what about you and the Commander?"   
Mackenzie blushed, and bit her lip. "Actually, if you must know," she said. "At one point, I made a pass at him."   
"And?"   
"And he turned me down." Mackenzie paused. "But it was good that I did it, I think. This way, it was put out of the way." She turned back to the laptop. "I think I better finish this note before this conversation gets anymore slumber-party like."   
Scully nodded, and climbed into the top bunk. Her mind swirling around the case, and around this conversation, she drifted off to sleep. 


End file.
